


what i would give to see you crack a smile

by 38midis



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Animals, Boys Kissing, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic, Fluff, Holding Hands, M/M, Pet Store, i rlly dont know how to tag this bear with me, mlm author, they....eat a sundae
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 15:58:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12461094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/38midis/pseuds/38midis
Summary: miles and Waylon take a little vacation in the city and do cute stuff idk. this is an unimpressive summary but im begging you





	what i would give to see you crack a smile

**Author's Note:**

> unimpressive summary but i am so tired please love this. this is literally just fluff ive had sitting in my docs for a month. they go to a pet store and stuff also its cute. not properly beta read and not entirely polished off

Rain drizzled down, tapping against the windows rhythmically. Waylon sleepily stirred amongst the linen sheets, shuffling closer to Miles in an attempt to steal away some of his warmth. His pale-brown gaze, eyes bleary and half-lidded with sleep, drowsily drifted around the room, rays of feeble sunlight blinking through the blinds. Mind bleary and fuzzy with early-morning fog, Waylon shifted slightly once more, blissed out and drunk with sleep. He nestled into Miles' frame, his body like a furnace as his bodyheat swarmed Waylon comfortingly. The hotel fan rattled choppily several times before easing up into a purring whir, Waylon listening to it hazily as he reconsidered wanting to move closer to Miles, not wanting to awaken him -- and also not wanting to move. In general. At all. He soundlessly listened to Miles' breathing, mellow but audible, accompanied by the hotel room's gentle ambience. 

The soft hum and rumble of the air conditioning, which kicked in some time after Waylon started coming to, almost lulled him back to sleep, but his gaze lingered on Miles’ face. It was their first night in the city, after a long while; they never went without one another, because Waylon would easily get lost and confused, and Miles was like a puppy with separation anxiety. Their trips were always eventful, and left them both pleasantly exhausted. Waylon’s thoughts trailed off as he relaxed, listening to the hotel room’s meek, rolling growling of the air conditioning and whirring of the fan. He sighed gently and nestled closer to him, huffing as the arm enveloping him squeezed him closer lightly.

“You move too much.” He muttered, pressing his lips to Waylon’s sandy-brown, tousled hair. Waylon leaned into him, beginning to suppress the start of a smirk, but he smiled fondly instead and nuzzled against him, trying not to laugh at the sleepy, playfully chiding voice. 

“You move too little.” Waylon said against his skin, huffing when Miles groaned and shuffled away, the sheets twisting against his legs as he sat up. He rubbed his forehead and sniffed, threading his fingers through his tufted, brown hair, grumbling something unintelligible before leaning back heavily against the pillows. Waylon repositioned himself a third time, cuddling against Miles’ chest and nudging his nose into his neck, sniffing. He relaxed against his frame, listening to the thrumming song of his heartbeat, the soft smell of yesterday’s cologne making his head feel fuzzy and chest warm. Miles was peering down at him with a familiar softness, a sense of devotion in his eyes, Waylon returning the gaze dotingly. Then, he leaned up and affectionately kissed him on the mouth, which made Miles hum curiously, before mumbling to him to get up and help him make some coffee.

Waylon climbed out from the nest of tousled, linen sheets, the rush of cool air chilling him as he left the comforting warmth of his partner. His loose-fitting, but very comfortable, shirt was off as he quickly replaced it with a heather gray sweatshirt, listening to the steady footfalls Miles left as he wandered to the bathroom. Waylon noted that the drizzling had ceased, blinking thoughtfully at the pearly droplets that scattered across the window. Then, he stepped towards the counter, briskly drumming his fingers against the marble countertops -- which he assumed was fake -- and fumbled with the little containers before placing them in the coffeemaker. Snagging a mug, he filled it with lukewarm tapwater and carefully poured it into the machine, pressing “brew” with a soft click. 

He was startled by the sudden warmth of gently cradling hands about his sides, but eased up and relaxed almost instantly as Miles rested his cheek against his soft, tufted hair. Leaning into his embrace, Waylon tilted his head and kissed Miles lovingly, smiling against his lips as he tried not to laugh when Miles squeezed him more tightly for a moment before releasing him. Waylon shouldered him back playfully when Miles’ hands wandered toward his soft belly, fingers about to dive in. 

“Don’t you dare,” Waylon said, spinning around and brandishing a spoon, droplets flickering off of it, and Miles raised his hands in defeat. “I will wound you, Miles.”

“Trust me, I believe you,” Miles said in reply, and a smirk cracked across his face as Waylon did a poor job of stifling his laughter and concealing his toothy grin. They acted like children sometimes, but it felt nice to joke around like they were highschoolers again. Waylon then attentively set down the utensil and stepped forwards, arms tugging him into an affectionate, warm hug. He lifted himself on his tippy-toes to peck Miles on the temple, nuzzling his upper jaw and giggling when Miles returned the favour with a big kiss to his neck. Waylon lowered himself and buried his face into his boyfriend’s neck, huffing quietly as he pressed his chest into his. 

“You should get dressed,” Waylon mumbled, voice slightly muffled as he spoke softly against Miles’ skin. 

“Don’t make me go, I was getting comfortable.” He whined in response, but groggily retreated to the bed and seized a shirt from his unzipped suitcase. Waylon tutted, returning his attention to the coffee machine, listening to the drizzle of the steaming, currently bitter liquid as it filled the mug. He steadily lifted it with a freckled hand, removing it and setting it on the countertop, repeating what he did earlier to fix his own drink. Miles stepped toward the counter, nursing on the drink and letting the steam heat his face, sighing afterwards. “I just burnt my tongue, like, very bad.” 

“Why are you never patient?” Waylon asked with a sigh.

“I like to rebel sometimes.” 

Waylon rolled his eyes, and Miles flashed a toothy smile before taking several more sips, turning to gleam at the panes of glass wet by rainwater. The sunlight had brightened, no longer feeble and dim as it rose higher in the sky, and Waylon accompanied him as he waited for the coffee to brew, staring down at the early-morning city life. Cars bustled along, and pedestrians clumped together as they paraded down the sidewalks. An anxious sensation tugged at Waylon’s stomach; his disdain for crowds worsened in the city, but he trusted Miles not to stray too far while Waylon clung to his ankles like a lost puppy. He scratched his jaw, sticking a pin in his cluttering thoughts, and he leaned against Miles’ shoulder and rest his cheek against it. Miles absentmindedly looped an arm around him, squeezing him into a half-hug. 

The droning of the brewed coffee trickling into the mug tempted Waylon to return, but he stood there for a while longer, eyes fluttering closed as he breathed in. He felt safe and relaxed in Miles’ presence, and he could tell the feeling was mutual because of how openly gentle and affectionate he was in return. Pulling away hesitantly, he went to retrieve his coffee, a cloud of steam tugged from the cup as he tentatively removed it. Taking some sickly sweet coffee syrup, he sweetened the hot drink before nursing on it, letting the warmth heat up his nose and cheeks. He loved his coffee sweet; unlike Miles, who wasn’t too fickle with his caffeine and drank whatever kept him awake. 

“Can you grab that pack of cigarettes on the counter? It’s by the keys.” 

Miles’ warm voice called out, and Waylon hummed briskly in response before seizing the cigarettes and padding across the carpeted room, trailing after Miles as he stepped out onto the tiny balcony. Unraveling the carton, he slid it towards him, watching as he fumbled with it and tugged one of the cigarettes out. Waylon leaned against the railing, peering down at the world below him. Pedestrians, all engrossed in their own world, crowded the streets busily, looking like beetles scuttling through the grass. Miles’ thumb flicked the striker wheel of his lighter, which was bright red with a pair of cherries printed on it, lighting his cigarette and audibly inhaling the smoke. Waylon yawned, sniffling as he drummed his fingertips on the metal railing and listened to the distant honking of impatient taxi drivers and endless, insistent chatter of people. 

While he loved the busy and eventful atmosphere, he hated feeling like he had to constantly come up for air like he was diving into dark water in search of something he had lost. His pale brown gaze, which was finally shaken of sleep, flitted to his left, gleaming at Miles curiously as he watched him drift off in thought while observing the liveliness as well. Smoke fluttered from the cigarette in puffs and miniature clouds, the ember winking back at Waylon as it twinkled vibrantly with heat. Waylon didn’t smoke often, only about once or twice a month, and when he did it was to still his thoughts and comfort him, regardless of the fact that he had significantly better coping mechanisms. 

“Can I take a drag? Just once, I don’t wanna smoke a whole one.” Waylon asked with a hint of reluctance, downing the last of his sugar-pumped, warm coffee.

“Sure,” Miles said simply, slipping the cigarette from his hold and perching it between Waylon’s lips as he leaned forwards, waiting for it to find purchase. Waylon inhaled wholeheartedly, letting the hot smoke purr and fume in the back of his throat and the core of his chest. It left a madly hazy, almost light-headed sensation, and he pulled away delicately, watching indifferently as Miles returned it to his own lips. Blinking, Waylon glanced back at the scenery, sun peeking above a gathering of buildings to the right with a beckoning look to it, warm light filtering through the city alongside other luminescent lights. He leaned back, stretching out his somewhat taut figure before smiling at Miles, who had ashed the cigarette before crushing the butt with his heel.

Waylon quirked a brow, inwardly wincing as he thought that crushing an ember with your bare foot wasn’t the greatest idea, but Miles seemed fine. Padding back inside, Waylon sat down on the plush bed pointedly, tugging his legs up and crossing them pretzel-style. Miles flopped down besides him in a somewhat eager manner, forcefully sprawling himself out over Waylon’s lap like he was a loveseat. A smile tugging at his lips, Waylon carded his fingers through Miles’ hair dotingly before prodding his nose with his pointer finger gently.

“What do you want? You only lay on me when you want something.”

“That’s not true,” Miles whined, stretching out his legs and pouting up at him, ”I lay on you lovingly. Isn’t it obvious?” 

Waylon looked into the distance and pursed his lips like he was deeply pondering his question, and Miles snickered before continuing. 

“Let’s go to the petstore.”

“We are not rescuing a fourth dog, Miles, and you can’t convince me otherwise.” Waylon exclaimed confusedly, about to pull away from him before Miles scrambled to answer before he could. “We don’t have to buy anything, let’s just hold all the pets.”

For a moment, Waylon still looked incredulous and conflicted, trying to process what Miles said. Then, his glowy, dilated eyes softened as he smiled, suppressing a laugh.

“Is this gonna be a date?” He asked lightheartedly, cupping Miles’ cheek as he fiddled with his darkly-coloured, tousled hair. Miles stuck his tongue out before replying in an excited and eager tone, which reminded Waylon that he hadn’t changed so much since highschool. 

“Hell yeah it is.” 

He clambered out of Waylon’s lap, grinning at him as he stood and offering him a hand. Waylon rolled his eyes and clasped his freckled hand over his, squeezing it as he roused carefully. Straightening himself out while observing himself in the silvery mirror strung over the wall, Waylon attentively combed through his downy curls several times before deciding it was alright. He retrieved a clean pair of shorts, which were charcoal black, a off-white stripes mirrored on either side a stark contrast to the dark colour. Waylon smiled softly as Miles piped up momentarily to say nice before retreating to the bathroom to promptly brush his teeth. As the light rush of drizzling tapwater started, Waylon busied himself quickly by collecting the two ceramic cups. He doused them in warm, soapy water, rinsing off the bubbly suds briskly before settling the two mugs upside-down. Miles sauntered back into the room, huffing as Waylon quirked a brow at him and smiled goofily. “I hate getting ready before going out. Let’s just look homeless and walk around.”  
Waylon laughed at that, headbutting his shoulder gently before planting a kiss on his upper jaw, snickering when Miles squeezed him into yet another hug. 

“C’mon, kiss me for real. My teeth are clean and I’m minty fresh.” 

“God, don’t ever talk like that again.”

Lovingly, they locked lips for a good moment, Waylon trying not to smile too much against Miles’ lips, savoring the taste of watermint and the delicate warmth behind it. Although they were affectionate and shared moments like this often, it always felt just as exciting and lovely as the first several times to Waylon. Pulling away, Waylon gleamed hazily into Miles’ starry, dilated eyes, which let Waylon know right away the feeling was mutual. Waylon smiled fondly and peppered his cheek in chaste kisses, nuzzling his jaw and giggling when Miles told him he was “being silly now”. 

“You asked me to kiss you,” Waylon reminded, making Miles roll his eyes and groan with a melodramatic flourish.

Miles snagged his keys, which jangled loudly with the hundreds of keepsakes and souvenirs dangling from the central loop. Waylon tugged on his converse -- because he was classy, of course -- and waited for Miles to get something on as well. Sauntering toward the door and fumbling with the doorknob, he beckoned Waylon along, the inseparable duo stepping out alongside each other. They took the elevator and exited the lobby shortly after, the bustling livelihood of the city finally striking Waylon more than it did when he was observing the pedestrian-riddled streets from an aerial view. A colder, heavier sensation seated itself in the pit of his stomach, yet one glimpse of Miles’ indifferent, at-ease expression chased away that burdening feeling. 

Waylon’s freckled hand clasped over Miles’, and they shared a fond look before threading their fingers together. Affectionately, Waylon swept his thumb over the subtle, grooving scarring near his knuckles, and they bumped shoulders playfully while walking down the street attentively. Hearkening, pale-brown eyes peered through the crowding people, who were all in their own worlds with their own business, and Waylon hummed deep in his throat with a nervous edge to it. He felt vaguely cautious and apprehensive, squeezing Miles’ hand in a pulsating fashion as he urged himself to relax more. Miles, who was far more familiar with the area, broke the silence -- well, between them. There was chatter and gossip glued to the stuffy atmosphere like moss veiling a tree. 

“It’s just down the street; I got a glimpse of it while we were on the bus.” He explained with a grin, a warm and kindly expression behind his eyes as he gleamed at Waylon. Returning the gaze and smile, Waylon replied with a playfully chiding voice, ”So you can find a pet store while passing by on a bus, but you lose the remote the moment it hits the covers next to you?” 

“That’s different. Of course I lose it, the bed wants me to.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Miles snorted, a radiant look in his deeply russet-brown eyes twinkling noticeably, and Waylon raised their interlaced hands. He gingerly kissed Miles’ knuckles and nudged them affectionately with his nose, stifling a giggle when he glanced back up and saw Miles’ significantly softened eyes. Sharing a fond, gentle look, they both mouthed a soft love you before returning their attention elsewhere for the remainder of their walk. The touristy city had gotten a spell of summery weather lately, but there was still a breeze that glided between the buildings and crowds. Gloomy puddles of rainwater rippled underfoot, droplets springing about as he trudged past it attentively. Waylon heedfully, but curiously, blinked around himself, taking in his surroundings thoughtfully in a much calmer manner. Eyes upturning, his gaze searchingly traveled a nearby building, constructed of brick and veiled with teeming ivy, which Waylon thought complimented the ruddy colour of the brick. 

An elderly woman rested on a wooden, weather-beaten bench, scattering birdseed to a covey of doves, fluttering about briskly as they picked through the feed eagerly. Her kind, mellow gaze caught his, and Waylon blushed, embarrassed about his apparently not-so-subtle people-watching, but she instead smiled in a friendly manner. Returning the gesture, he waved before lettering his attention drift elsewhere quickly, before he humiliated himself. Miles cast him a sideward glance, smirking acknowledgingly, making Waylon scoff and playfully shoulder him. Chary eyes quickly searching the area around him, Waylon sniffed, and although he made an attempt to be careful and aware of what was going on so that he wouldn’t be alarmed, he still startled at Miles’ tugging his arm suddenly. Following his gaze confusedly, Waylon made a soft o shape with his lips as he grasped the fact they nearly passed right by the storefront they were aiming for. Waylon could sense the excitement radiating off of Miles, which he thought was adorable, and he shadowed him dotingly as he tugged him along indoors. 

Immediately, the familiar, almost comforting scent of animals flooded his senses, almost overwhelmingly so. Waylon paused for a moment to process it fully before excitement bubbled in his chest and stomach, matching Miles. Reluctantly, they unlaced their fingers, softly bumping them together before retreating to their respective spaces. A drowsy-looking, however still charismatic, woman greeted them briefly as they wandered further in, smiling brightly at the two. 

“If you need anything, let me know,” She said kindly.

“Of course,” Waylon replied, nervously softspoken but still friendly. He trailed after Miles, trying not to be significantly awkward, gazing curiously at the products displayed brightly on the shelving. Light squeaking and scuffling beckoned the duo toward the rodent section, which Miles hastily approached, not wanting to miss up on the opportunity to fawn at them; he got soft around animals -- or, just in general, he was a lot softer than he appeared. The cashier that greeted them called out once more, ”There’s a lock on the top of each enclosure; just flick it and feel free to hold the animals. Just remember to wash your hands to avoid cross-contamination.” 

Soundlessly nodding at the helpful information, Miles cautiously switched the lock, it flickering over with an audible click. He slid the durable plastic roofing over and peered in, a gathering of soft-bodied rats dozed off in a heap beneath the dangling water bottle. Waylon offered him a splash of pungent hand-sanitizer after tentatively rubbing a portion into his clammy palms. He grinned gingerly, watching from behind his shoulder as he attentively settled a hand amongst the bedding, which caught the attention of the few rodents still awake. A tubby piebald rat scuttled toward Miles’ hand, it’s tiny nails pawing at his knuckles curiously before clambering onto the back of his hand. 

“I think he likes you,” Waylon remarked gently, beaming at the softened expression underlying in Miles’ eyes. Miles scooped it’s softly round, furry body into his palms, meticulously raising his cupped hands out of the enclosure to hold it closer to his chest. Timidly, yet obviously inquisitive, the rat stepped from the centre of his palms, clambering onto his wrist and snuffling about like it was trying to ferret out a treat. Waylon gently pet the downy fur running along it’s back, and he tried to suppress a goofily big smile as Miles aww’d at the tiny creature. It’s whiskers tickled his wrist, and Waylon’s hand jutted back, snickering like a middle schooler. Cautiously, Miles set it back into the tank, watching as it’s furry, tubby frame scampered out from his careful hold. 

“This is the best,” Miles said matter-of-factly, making Waylon giggle at the sincerity in his voice, ”I love this so much.”

 

“It is. In fact, I think this is better than any of the other dates you’ve taken me on.”

 

Miles shot him a look, faking a startled and shocked expression, unable to keep up the act long before smiling himself. Waylon diffidently let a hand into the enclosure, fingers scuffling at the sawdust bedding, a petite, black rat perking up before scampering over to investigate. Gently, Waylon caressed the fur on it’s head, fingers trailing down it’s furry spine to scritch the small of it’s back. A warmth sparked in his chest as he fondled another rat’s ears, and he was a bit surprised to find most of them to be sociable and unafraid. Inwardly, he reminded himself that the store did initially seem to take exceptional care of the animals. Besides, what would be the use of selling sickly, aggressive pets? However, that didn’t save him from receiving a few warning nips to his knuckles or fingertips when he got a bit too excited stroking the rodents. Reeling back, he let his inquisitive gaze searchingly travel around himself, focus flitting about thoughtfully before lingering on the nearby enclosure. 

Within it nestled three rabbits, the closest a woolly, heather gray lop, feeding on a handful of timothy hay strewn across the bedding. His eyes gleamed warmly as he blinked down at it, swiveling the lock softly and gradually, not wanting to excessively disturb the two other snoozing rabbits. Delicately, he rest his hand near it’s round paws, the rabbit pointedly rummaging through the sawdust and suspiciously peering at him with it’s beady-black eyes. Then, it approached, snuffling at his hand, whiskers and little snout thrust into his palm as it attempted ferreting out any treats it could find. Realizing there was none, it appeared like it was cocking its head, prompting a childish giggle from Waylon, who let his fingertips roam the velvety, thick fur along its backside. Tentatively, his other hand ducked in sensitively, and he coaxed the furry, heat-radiating creature into his hands, one hand tucked beneath its midsection and the other supporting its flank. Waylon, trying to be nimble as not to frighten the rabbit, gently crossed his arms and cradled it’s plump, downy frame. He felt its heartbeat thrum nervously through its chest, and naturally his heart empathetically swelled, yet he continued soothingly ruffling and caressing its pelt.

“That’s a fat rabbit.”

“Miles! He can hear you!”

Rolling his coppery eyes expressively, Miles looped an arm around Waylon’s shoulder, other arm repositioning itself as he cautiously stroked the creature. Heat rushed to Waylon’s face, blushing momentarily as he had always felt self-conscious about public affectionate, purely out of fear of being mouthed off to. However, he reassured himself inwardly, warmly pressing into his arm and grinning as Miles pet the creature.The downy-coated rabbit had mellowed out moments ago, and it calmly let itself be pawed at by a pair of gentle, meticulous hands. 

“See? The little guy’s okay with it, he knows. He’s flaunting it,” Miles said, ruffling the tufted fur along its scruff affectionately. “He has done absolutely nothing wrong ever, and I love him. Can we keep him?”

“Miles,” Waylon said sternly, eyebrows knitting slightly, earning a bout of close-mouthed snickers from his boyfriend, “I told you, we can’t buy any pets. Where would they even go?”

“I was kidding. Can I hold him, though?”

Waylon nodded, and Miles outstretched his arms to gently encircle the rabbit’s heavyish frame, smoothing it’s woolly pelt with his hand gingerly. Waylon smiled fondly at the two, heart fluttering; he felt younger and smaller in the pet store with Miles, their laughter and enjoyment softening their attitudes. The two let out a series of hushed giggles when the rabbit sneezed, trying not to draw too much attention in the store, and Waylon let Miles caress and stroke the rabbit comfortably as he gazed into the other section of the store. Aquariums and terrariums stretched over a wall, each tank labeled appropriately, but from the distance between the furry creatures and the fish, they were blurry. He took to closing the rat’s enclosure after soundlessly waving to them, making sure the lock clicked closed and the top was properly slid over. Miles repositioned the plump rabbit in his grasp, tucking a hand beneath its broad haunches and supporting its upper abdomen before delicately settling it back down into the shelter. He brushed off stray, tufty strands of downy fur that clung to his brown work jacket and slightly droopy sleeves, tutting. 

“These guys shed a fuckin’ lot,” He whispered to Waylon, smirking. 

“Well, yeah. He’s got long fur,” Waylon murmured back, returning the smile minutely. His gaze flitted back to the aquariums, loosely grasping Miles's hand and guiding him over to the vividly decorated tanks. He peered through the cellophane glass, avoiding small sections where pint-sized handprints obscured his view, the plants billowing from the force of the bubbler. Various coexisting fish flitted between the cloven-leafed pennywort, a school of neon tetras timidly regarding Waylon and Miles as they shimmied over to get a better look. A chunk of well-fashioned driftwood jutted out in the centre, spidery limbs forming an archway over an accumulation of leafy shoots. Diverting his attention to the other section of terrariums, each adorning various, vibrantly green foliage, Waylon wandered toward the reptilian section with spiked interest. A petite leopard gecko perched on a bowed branch, it’s specked, saffron-tinged frame scuttling to the side as it peered at Waylon tentatively. 

Shaking his head with a badly suppressed smile splitting across his face, Waylon crouched down to get a closer, more precise view of the geck. Its slitted eyes snapped over to blink at him cautiously, rubbery, pink tongue neatly flickering over its left eye. Suctiony feet pawed at the glass, the gecko hastily clambering upwards, it’s freckled, swollen tail twitching. Waylon gingerly pressed his fingerpads to the lustered glass, barely smudging it, his fawn-coloured eyes searchingly flitting about as the gecko traipsed closer. An awed smile awakened on his freckled face as it tucked its motley-patterned figure parallel to his hand, head swiveling so it can observe him. Waylon’s heart thumped in his chest, and he felt silly with his childlike enthusiasm, but the warmth spread even as the creature vaulted off of the glossy pane of glass, scrambling around the bristling foliage within its habitat. The earthy substrate bunched up as it clawed at it, lissome frame twisting before disappearing back behind the looming branch.

“I love lizards. They look like little boats of hate,” Waylon muttered to Miles, promptly getting jostled in the side for his remark. Covering his mouth with the back of his hand to hush his burst of laughter, Miles shook his head. “I’m supposed to be the making jokes in this relationship. Are you stealing my spotlight?” 

“Maybe. What’re you gonna about it?” 

“Buy a lizard against your will.”

Waylon scoffed, glancing upwards to smile at Miles’ who shared the softened, grinning expression, before standing upright. “I think he liked me, though. Isn’t that cool?”

“He wants you to buy him, that’s why,” Miles hummed, faking thoughtfulness, “It’s a good tactic, actually. In fact, I’m very impressed with this little man. Let’s buy him.”

“I know I’m, like, very in love with you and all, but why are you like this?” Waylon sighed. His seeking gaze roamed the creature-riddled shop, a meek growl of hunger scrabbling at the inside of his stomach. “Can we get a bite to eat?”

“Sure,” Miles hummed in approval, stepping over to ghost Waylon as he made a little beeline toward the exit. The cashier, puzzled yet cheery, eyeballed them as they made their way out, waving dismissively. They sauntered down the russet sidewalk, scattered puddles splashing underfoot. Bedewed, trimmed irises and alumroot adorned a section of sylvan planters, a portion of welcoming freshness, but Waylon grimaced at the wilted outer greens and strewn cigarette butts. Terraced, brownstone buildings framed local giftshops and outlets, which Waylon noted were elderly yet aesthetically pleasant, and he glanced at the wailing of a car, it’s red lights stubbornly flickering against the gray of the streets. A flock of nosy doves squawked loudly at Miles as he incidentally stepped on a hunk of stale bread, to which Miles regarded with a yelp and a string of slurs. Laughing, Waylon tugged him away, gazing over his shoulder at the silvery birds as they glowered at them with beady eyes. 

“I swear, those tiny thugs want me dead, and I’m not having it,” Miles hissed scornfully, clearly agitated but also trying not to laugh at the situation. He sniffed, shaking his head, and the duo squeezed between a group of chattery, flashy-clothed tourists, Miles grimacing when one’s elbow accidentally jostled into his shoulder. He bit back a snarky bark, Waylon being the majority of his impulse control, and he tightened his embrace on his hand to receive a knowing glance. They approached the bustling, downtown area, which teemed with both talkative and cagey people, and Waylon self-consciously traipsed closer to Miles, clutching his hand more securely. 

The pair walked up to an ice cream shop that sat on the corner of the street. It was decorated reminiscent to fifties-era diners, with checker tiled floors and high stools by the counter that you could spot through the window. On the veranda sat a few places to sit, red-cushioned steel chairs accompanying tables with red-stop surfaces with large umbrellas set up to give shade on hot summer days. A large plastic ice cream cone sat on top of the roof as the sign, and neon lights adorned the windows with motifs of milkshakes and root beer floats. Miles whistled contentedly, the vintage atmosphere favorable. 

Instantly, Waylon’s fixated fondness for sweets grew intense, but he apprehensively withheld from approaching the counter. He gnawed at the inside of his cheek, smiling sheepishly at Miles when he delivered a knowing, sideward glance, sauntering over to order after gesturing to the booths. Waylon nodded, freckled face ruddy and flushed, sidling toward a spacious, cherry-red booth, aluminum-topped with an orderly assortment of condiments and napkins toward the lustered window. He was enjoying himself, even if his anxiety was bothersome, and he smiled meekly at his glowy reflection in the window. Prodding at his curls so they weren’t awkwardly tousled, he was alarmed when Miles obnoxiously slammed the tray in the centre of the table, yelping. 

“Rocky road sundae, since I’m classy,” Miles hummed, sliding into the cramped booth and eyeballing the toothsome dessert. The clumps of saccharine fudge and rose-pink, sugary marshmallows, garnished with sprinkles and strawberry-covered wafers, looked enticing and sickly-sweet. Scooping up a spoonful to savor, the syrupy ice cream melted against his tongue, smiling stupidly at the childish excitement that had coursed through him beforehand. Affectionately bumping his shoulder, Miles polished off his scoop, a goofy grin plastered across his face as Waylon waved him away, trying not to spill the ice cream. 

“You’re gonna make a mess,” Waylon whined, his chest feeling fuzzy with affection, and he nudged him to the side. A spill of light poured through the window, blinds tilted downwards, and Waylon clutched his hand tight and kissed his knuckles. The little gesture of affection both agitated and unbelievably softened Miles, especially when Waylon paused momentarily to lightly peck the raised scar on his index finger. 

“Y’know, I love you,” he murmured softly, smiling sheepishly at Waylon, who gave a smile and squeezed his hand into an even tighter embrace. 

“I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! i understand it may not be exactly.. impressive and completely polished off but i really wanted to post it because i was losing motivation but i loved this fic a lot. any feedback is welcome but please keep in mind i wasnt really focused on completely correct grammar/spelling/etc as lazy as that is ^_^" 
> 
> i will be posting more shorter fics, esp w miles/way and also some lisa because i love her !!!


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